Anniversary
by tifaxfinalxheaven
Summary: Diary, today’s the anniversary. It’s been three years since I’ve left that place. Three years since I discovered she really was dead. Three years since I found a family." Laura-centric drabble on Mary and James. Dark themes.


**DiSCLAiMER:** I do not, in any way, own _Silent Hill 2_ (or any other _Silent Hill_, for that matter).

**Pairing: **None.

**Rating: **T, for dark themes.

* * *

Diary,

Today's the anniversary.

It's been three years since I've left that place.

Three years since I discovered she really was dead.

Three years since I found a family.

Wasn't that what I wanted? I was tired of being alone, sick of being tended to by lying nurses and indifferent caregivers. I wanted a family. A mother to hold me and a father to protect me. I'd be loved and cherished and have my own home to return to. A room for me to decorate as I pleased. Toys and dolls for me to play with. Clothes that weren't cheap, scratchy, second-hand threads…

But even if I didn't receive the materialistic benefits of a family, all I truly wanted was someone to call "Mom" and another to call "Dad."

I remember lingering in her room, talking to her with ease. Laughing. Smiling. Forgetting about all the troubles in the world just by holding conversation with her. She never shooed me away like the nurses who didn't want me to disturb their patients or the nannies who told me I couldn't leave my room whenever I wanted. She just grinned at me, and told me to sit down beside her so that we could visit. After a while, I lowered my guard around her and really indulged in the time I could spend with a human being who--I hoped--really cared about me. I'd get carried away and rant and complain about the orphanage I stayed in, and she would just nod and listen, not wanting to burden me with her own troubles. It was just like Mary. Selfless. Kind. Soft-spoken. She really was like a mother to me. She knew it. It was obvious. After all, my tongue would slip every now and then, and I'd call her "_Mommy_" instead of _Mary _by accident. I'd apologize, and she'd just shake her head and laugh quietly, brokenly… as if she was sad and trying to cover it up. I always figured that's what she really was doing.

It didn't take long for me to learn about him.

James.

Her husband.

Her disgusting, selfish, stupid, jerk of a husband.

Her murderer.

Her favorite person in the whole world.

And the one who she held closest to her heart.

I can recall the time I first heard her talk about him openly with me. I noticed the wedding band on her finger and I asked, "_Hey, Mary? Who's the lucky man?_" Instead of smiling and telling me with the excitement of most married women, she immediately had a guilty look on her face. She looked away from me for a moment and wrung her wrists, suppressing a cough simultaneously. I was afraid I touched a subject that was too personal and opened my mouth to take the question back.

"_His name is James_." She cut me off with a voice that was so soft that you could cut it with a line of silk. A miniscule, tentative smile graced her features. "_… He's a very sweet man, Laura. I think… __**I'm**__ the one who's lucky to have him._"

I gaped. Mary was the nicest lady in the whole world, not to mention the most humble. Not wanting to offend her by saying he probably wasn't as great as she said he was, I replied, "_Then you guys must be the happiest couple in the whole wide world. Two nice people are bound for happiness, right, Mary?_"

Then I knew I said something I shouldn't have. Mary's smile twitched at the corners and she drew a shuddering breath. "_I wish we were, Laura, I really do_."

I didn't know what I could say to make things better, so I gave Mary a small hug and told her good-bye. I had done enough damage, I figured, and so it'd be better for me to leave.

I continued visiting Mary whenever I could. But every time I saw her, she looked more tired and more sad than the last time I visited. None-the-less, she'd still welcome me into her room and talk with me, though she had to rest after talking a bit, coughing so hard that her shoulders jerked in ways they shouldn't have.

One time on my way to Mary's room, I saw him. Short, messy blonde hair. Regretful blue-green eyes. Stooped, though broad, shoulders. He was tall, but looked utterly sheepish and drained. Pathetic. He couldn't have been older than thirty-five, though the lines on his face and bags under his eyes gave him an aged appearance. Unaware of the fact that this was Mary's so-called "_sweet_" husband, I didn't pay much attention to him as he passed me in the hallway.

When I arrived at Mary's hospital room, she was laying in her bed, eyes growing wet with tears. She tried to say, "_Hello, Laura_" like always, but only a quiet, nasally cry of "_Hi_" left her quivering lips. I was suddenly overcome with empathy, and found myself depressed by the image of a plaintive Mary before me.

"_Mary!" _I said, finally, running up to her and hugging her as tight as my short arms would allow. "_What's wrong? What happened? Mary?_"

She was at a loss for words. Mary just pressed her face into my shoulder and sniffled miserably.

My eyes drifted from the melancholy woman to the bed stand beside her bed. There was a fresh bouquet of flowers; white lilies and pink Narcissuses and red roses all in a bundle, apparently chosen with care. There was a note on the ribbon keeping the bouquet together. Squinting my eyes, I was able to read:

"_Dear Mary,_

_I know these flowers might not mean much, but I hope that they brighten up your day. I know how much you like them. Please feel better today._

_With all my love,_

_James _

_PS: I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit lately. Please forgive me."_

It was a touching sentiment, but it didn't look like Mary was so happy that she was crying. She was crying because she was sad. I absently wondered why, seeing as Mary always told me about how she loved being visited by James and how she was always waiting for him.

"_I sent him away_." Mary said after a pregnant moment of silence where I had been too confused to speak. "_He just brought me flowers and… I yelled at him. Oh, James.…_"

I almost laughed. I couldn't help it, Mary was mumbling into my shoulder and it tickled. Regardless, I was baffled. Mary yelled? She could actually _do_ that? What was even more was that she yelled at _James_… Her beloved husband--_who brought her flowers--_was snapped at? I couldn't understand why. Instead of prying like I wanted to, I just patted Mary on the back to soothe her--she always did the same for me when I was upset.

However, this is where I should stop. Thinking about Mary… it pains me. I miss her. She was my closest friend and the person who understood me best in this world. The thought of having lost her and remembering all the things that drew her close to me makes my chest hurt.

I still haven't forgiven him for taking her away from me.

James.

I hate you.

I hate you for killing her.

I hate you for making her sad.

I hate you for carrying on when she deserves life more than you do.

James.

At the same time, I admit...

I hate you for making her the happiest woman in the world.

I hate you for being the one she held dearest to her heart.

I hate you for being the one she looked forward to seeing every day.

I hate you… because I'm jealous of you.

But James… even though I know you must hate me too, even though I probably make you want to jump off of the Empire State Building… I love you. Very much.

I love you for trying your hardest to provide for me and get me the best that you can.

I love you for getting me my own room to decorate as I please, for the toys I play with, for the clothes that, for once, are not scratchy, smelly old rags.

I love you for being patient with me, even when I'm that perpetual pain in your neck.

I love you for not being afraid of and discouraged by my constant insulting of you.

I love you for being a father to me.

And although I can't say this to you in person, I want you to know this. Although, if you ever bring this up, I'll deny I ever wrote such a disgustingly touchy-feely note like this, but just understand that as much as I hate you, James, I love you twice as much for bringing me into your family and treating me just like Mary used to. (Even if you do yell and curse more than she ever did.)

Have a nice day at work. Come home safe.

_Laura_

PS: (And by the way, I _know_ that you've been reading my diary, James. That's rude. Really rude, even for _you. _Still, if you didn't read it, I suppose I wouldn't be able to get this off of my chest. So, thanks for taking an interest in my life like that. But stop reading it from now on, or I'll switch your shampoo with super glue.)


End file.
